Lost Years Ep 02: The Child
by Soledad
Summary: Second part of the Lost Years series. Follows The Joy Machine. Features heavily Lt Ilia, the Deltan navigator.
1. Chapter 1: The Enterprise

**THE LOST YEARS**

**by Soledad**

**EPISODE 02: THE CHILD**

**Disclaimer: **The context and the characters of the Original Star Trek series belong to Gene Roddenberry and whoever keeps the rights right now. Battlestar Galactica belongs to Glen A. Larsen and Universal Studios, as do all the characters that appear in the show. None of these stories are wholly original, and I'm not making any money off of them.

**Author's notes: **This is the second part of my Lost Years series, describing the adventures of the second five-year-mission of Kirk's _Enterprise._ "The Child" has been inspired by an episode script by Jaron Sommers and Jon Povill for the never realized second series. The same script was later re-written for a similarly titled 2nd season TNG-episode. This is a very different story, though.

The ship classes described here are from the _Star Fleet Technical Manual_ by Franz Joseph. The _Astral Queen_ as well as the various characters is canon. Some of them belong to the Animated Series or to the novels, though.

**CHAPTER 01: THE **_**ENTERPRISE**_

The recreation deck, as the comfortable and well-equipped rejuvenation centre of the USS _Enterprise_ was officially labelled (lovingly nicknamed "rec deck" by the crew) was situated on Deck 6, together with other establishments of convenience like the central food synthesizers and the ship's laundry It occupied most of the deck – much to the chagrin of incompetent desk jockeys who'd never been on a deep space mission and so couldn't understand why the crew of a starship would need such an extensive recreation centre. Those who'd spent at least six standard months in deep space, however, knew that this particular establishment was perhaps the most important one for the crew's mental health.

Cassiopeia, the hostess of the rec deck, enjoyed her work very much. Before the Cylons had destroyed Old Gemini, she'd been working as a _socialator_. This profession, related from afar to that of Japanese geisha on Earth, was highly respected in Gemonese society, and Cassiopeia had once been one of the best. She'd achieved the highest academic honours and had been entitled to wear the golden fringe on the hem and the collar of her mantle. She had also been hosen to take part in the training of young candidates. _Socialator _officers like herself had always been a rarity, and her high status had earned her the respect and devotion of Gemonese men.

The role of _socialator_s reached back a thousand or more yahrens in Gemonese history. It was executed with the blessing of the elders and secured a high social status. As a result, achieving a licence was _not_ easy. A candidate had to study the social structures and behaviour of all Twelve Worlds. She had to absolve endless courses in psychology, sociology, religious teachings and poetry. She had to go to regular meditation training and had to learn arcane healing techniques unknown to all other people. A good _socialator_, although not necessarily averse to becoming intimate with her client, was, in the first place, what the name of the profession indicated: a person best suited to tend and build out social contacts. That was what made them so influential in Gemonese society.

When the Cylons wiped out the Old Colonies, Cassiopeia found herself in a hostile environment where people considered her a common whore. Not only did men from other tribes (especially Capricans, despite all their Kobolian religious zeal) expected sexual favours from her, she had also very nearly got lynched, trapped on a ship full of starving people, many of whom belonged to the Otori-sect. That had frightened her badly. Never before had she been treated with such open hatred, and she realized that with Cain gone, she'd need a new protector, more than she'd ever needed before.

Starbuck had been the most obvious chance even though she'd never favoured exuberant young men. But Starbuck had rescued her from the Gemini freighter and helped her to find a safe place aboard the _Galactica_. Becoming a simple med tech had been a serious degradation for her, both socially and in the area of lifestyle, but at least it was related to her usual work, however faintly – and it kept her safe.

Seducing Starbuck and taking him away from the Commander's spoiled, naïve little girl had been so easy it wasn't even funny. She'd enjoyed trying her charms against other women, even against one of hopelessly inferior skills, because honestly, Athena didn't have a snowball's chance in Hades against a _socialator_. Not even against a simple one, and even less so against a highly trained _socialator_ officer. She'd been a young girl back then, with the delusions of becoming a warrior like her brother.

Cassiopeia knew she wouldn't have such an easy victory against Athena _now_. Adama's daughter had grown up in the meantime, earning fame as a skilled and sometimes ruthless diplomat who had fought many battles against Federation representatives and won quite a few of them. Nor had she ever truly forgiven Cassiopeia for snatching Starbuck away from her, despite the unwavering politeness with which she'd endured her presence on family dinners for Apollo and Starbuck's sake. Like all Adamans, she was very good at keeping long grudges. To tell the truth, Cassiopeia was glad to be as far away from her as the era of Warp travel made it possible.

Travelling from world to world was something that she – the daughter of a freighter captain – had always enjoyed very much. When they had finally freed themselves from their Cylon pursuers – with the help of the Federation – she'd visited the main planets of that interplanetary bound and ended up on Seyalia, marked on official star charts as 114 Delta V. The Deltans, as one could have expected, had recognized the true nature of her profession quickly, and offered her the chance to learn, to hone her skills even more.

Cassiopeia had jumped at the chance, of course. To learn more about mental healing techniques was something she'd always wanted to do, and even though her empathic abilities were fairly weak, like by most humans, her Deltan teachers had been surprised by her receptive attitude towards methods other human beings usually considered with deep suspicion.

She had been offered Deltan citizenship, which was an extremely rare thing, as everyone kept assuring her. Yet although she'd come to love that beautiful planet as if it truly had been her home, she could not quite give up the chance to get back her high social status among her own people. Actually, with her newly achieved Deltan degree, she could have aspired for an even higher status in the hierarchy of the _Labyrinth_: that of the personal aide of the _Hecate_, one of the twin priestesses who held the true power in Gemini's female-dominated theocracy. That would have meant becoming the second most important person after the _Hecate_ herself… the highest rank any _socialator_ could even dream of.

However, as well as things were going on New Gemini, there were still no resources left to begin the training of a new _socialator_ generation. For the time being, all available energy was used for the gargantuan work of rebuilding their colony. Even with the generous help of the Federation – namely that of Alpha III and 114 Delta V – this was a project that would have top priority for quite some yahrens to come.

Fortunately for her, the _Quorum of Twelve_ was eager to build contacts to as many worlds of the Federation as possible. Since they could not afford a deep space exploration programme of their own – _that_ would be the task of future generations – they've made a deal with Starfleet, getting the admirality's nod to delegate a small group of diplomatic observers to the USS _Enterprise_, the flagship of the Federation fleet. To the very ship that the Colonial refugees had met the first time after crossing the anomaly that had brought them into this galaxy.

Colonel Tigh, former executive officer of the _Galactica_ and recently the councillor of New Libra, had been chosen as the leader of said delegation (mostly because his wife served aboard the _Enterprise_, and because he wasn't needed very much on New Libra, the planet still undergoing an extended terraforming process), and Cassiopeia had been asked to join the team as the Colonel's diplomatic attaché. She'd accepted, of course – considering whom the request (or should she say _order_?) had come from, she didn't really have the chance to refuse – but with mixed feelings. Despite his straightforward stubbornness, Tigh was not easily fooled, and while he'd always been friendly to Cassiopeia, she couldn't help but notice the slightly contemplative gleam in those dark eyes, whenever Tigh looked at her. As if the Colonel had some strange suspicion concerning her person; one that he couldn't quite name himself. Not yet anyway.

Also, after some proper schooling, Boomer and Rigel, too, had been reassigned to the _Enterprise_, to work as the pilot and the navigator of Beta shift, respectively. In theory, it would have been good to have at least _some_ familiar face aboard, and Rigel was all right in that area. She and Cassiopeia had barely had any contact during the flight of the Colonial fleet; there was no need to pretend in her presence.

Boomer, on the other hand, could never be fooled by Cassiopeia's assumedly great love for Starbuck. Just like Apollo, Boomer was a close friend of Starbuck's, but – unlike Apollo – he wasn't a particularly romantic soul. _And_ he didn't react well when his friends were hurt. After the encounter with the _Pegasus_, Cassiopeia knew that Boomer would never trust her again.

In hindsight, it had been eminently stupid from her to turn back to Cain like a well-trained little _daggit_. She should have known, after all those yahrens that they had known each other, that Cain would go his own way, regardless of the feelings of anyone else: Adama's, Cassiopeia's, even Sheba's. Though if he'd ever loved someone, he certainly loved his daughter. Otherwise Sheba wouldn't have been spoiled so rotten, always wanting what other people had, always getting what she wanted.

Well… almost. She'd certainly invested a great deal of effort into ensnaring Apollo – and might even have succeeded, if not for Count Iblis. But after the encounter with that strange, malevolent entity, Sheba and Apollo began to slowly drift apart, and no amount of trying from Sheba's side would knit again what had been broken between the two of them.

Just as the broken trust between Starbuck and Cassiopeia couldn't be knitted again. After Cain, Starbuck had been willing to take her back – he had been infatuated with her very much – but things weren't quite the same afterwards. And then came the termination of Lieutenant Ortega aboard the _Rising Star_, and Cassiopeia had truly believed Starbuck guilty…. And made the bad decision to tell him to confess.

_Nothing_ would be the same between them after that. Had Starbuck not gotten lost shortly thereafter, they would have broken up, just like Apollo and Sheba had. Apollo and his friends, together since the Caprican Flight Academy, had very strong ideas about faithfulness and truth… and they could be surprisingly inflexible when it came to this particular topic.

_One should never fall in love with a warrior_, she thought bitterly, _not even if said love is just a convenience. They are a species unto itself; no one has the chance to get between them._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Aside from the presence of witnesses of her greatest defeat, this new assignment wasn't all that bad, tough. As Admiral Nogura had explained to her, the presence of a civilian hostess on the recreation deck of a starship was still an experimental position, but one that Starfleet intended to establish on other ships as well. After all, the Fleet served research purposes as much as the defence of the Federation, and people ought to lead semi-normal lives during long missions. Besides, the Old Man (as everyone in Starfleet below the rank of an admiral called him) added, such hostesses – or hosts – would get the same payment as a quartermaster of the rank of a Chief Petty Officer.

Beyond the handsome payment, this was the first time for yahrens that she could do something similar to his actual work, and Cassiopeia welcomed each new day. She collected the admiring looks as she walked across the rec deck in her long, shoulder-free, cinnamon-coloured dress, from the representatives of several different humanoid races as the due tribute to her beauty and training. She had already been accepted by most, admired by many, and she was certain that she'd conquest the rest, too, and soon.

The advantage of working on a Starfleet ship – as opposed to working as a _socialator_ in any colonial facility – was that Starfleet had strict regulations concerning sexual harassment. Many of those had been added in the recent years as a result of a lot of filed complaints, mostly against human captains. Whether justified or not, Starfleet's Legal Division had decided to take pre-emptive measures, which made service aboard a starship smoother and more efficient.

Cassiopeia checked the rec deck's news board. According to the board computer, it was 18:00 hours, Earth standard time, and they had still four days' worth of travel before them. This time their destination was a far-away one indeed. Time for the next troll across her small realm, she decided. She liked to keep her eye on everything.

She left her small office, entering the central room of the rec deck – a spacious room, flanked by gyms on one side and by gaming chambers on the other one. The comfortable, airy central room served as mess hall and officer's club… or a somewhat unusual mix of the two. People could eat here (unless they preferred to do so in their quarters), could talk, organize small concerts (a surprising number of them could play one or more instruments) or play board games, both electronic ones or the more traditional kind. There was also the possibility to watch holovids or to do some personal studying in one of the private reading rooms.

In a small niche on the gallery, there was an old-fashioned 3D chess set. No one but Captain Kirk seemed to touch it, ever, and should a newbie as much as approach it, some old crewmember always appeared and gently but firmly advised them _not_ to do so. At first, Cassiopeia had been surprised about that, but Commander Uhura later explained her that the captain and Mr. Spock had exclusively used this particular set, and the crew respected Kirk's nostalgic feelings. After all, with Mr. Spock back on Vulcan, he didn't have much else left from his best friend.

The mess hall was practically empty on this afternoon. Mr Kyle, the lanky, bristle-haired transporter chief was brooding over a particularly complicated game of _Questor_ at one of the tables – alone. Cassiopeia didn't want to disturb him – _Questor_ demanded nearly the same level of concentration from a player than three-dimensional chess – so she only nodded a brief greeting and continued her round.

A little further away, in one of the reading rooms, she discovered T'Pel, the Vulcan sociologist. Being a civilian, T'Pel was wearing a short, wide-cut tunic and long, skin-tight trousers as it had been considered fashionable on Vulcan for the last two or three decades. Vulcans didn't tend to abrupt fashion changes. Her jet-black hair was tightly braided and twisted into a coronet on the top of her head, bringing her long, graceful neck to full effect. Only a single lock fell over each elegantly pointed ear freely down to her bosom. High cheekbones, almond-shaped, dark eyes and arched eyebrows emphasized the exotic flair of her dark, nut-brown face. Very few Vulcan clans had dark skin among their specific treats, and despite all her Vulcan coldness, T'Pel was a very attractive woman, dreamed of by the one or other inexperienced young crewman. Unfortunately for them, she had also been bound since the age of seven, so all the mooning and dreaming was done in vain.

Cassiopeia considered Lieutenant Xon, who was sitting with T'Pel in companionable silence over a cup of hot _seja_, Vulcan herbal tea, another interesting subject for her behavioural observations. The young Vulcan male was new in the close-knit command staff of the _Enterprise_, and as such, his fellow officers kept comparing him with the steadily growing legend known as Mr. Spock. The fact that he'd been assigned as the new leader of the science section, where he had to control and direct the work of people twice his age and ten times his experience, would have been burden enough, even without the ghost of Mr. Spock lingering in every corner. Competing with a living legend must have been sheer unbearable.

While Cassiopeia had met Mr. Spock two years earlier and didn't question the older Vulcan's brilliance, she found it a bit unjust that the senior officers would dislike Xon, just because he'd filled Spock's empty place – or, at least, he was trying his best to do so. Xon, for his part, seemed to accept this blatantly illogical behaviour – so typical for humans – with the customary Vulcan indifference. Cassiopeia had noticed, however, that he usually avoided his older colleagues off-duty and only socialized with the other Vulcans on board.

Commander Uhura was the only exception – but again, one couldn't throw Commander Uhura onto the same pile with the others anyway. Cassiopeia had admired the warmth and open-mindedness of the other woman since their first encounter, and hadn't been the least surprised to see Colonel Tigh fall for her so hard and so fast. They said that Libran males rarely bound their lives to foreign women, and Tigh, too, had lived alone after the Lady Lilith's death during the long _yahrens_ of their flight. But Uhura's dignity, intelligence and warm-heartedness easily met the Libran standard.

_Besides_, thought Cassiopeia for the umpteenth time_, one would have to look very hard, even on Old Libra, to find such a stunning beauty, and men are men, everywhere._

The sudden quickening of her own heartbeat interrupted her thoughts. She could feel the blood rushing into her face irresistibly. Fortunately, the years spent on _Seyalia_ had made her capable of recognizing the effect of Deltan pheromones. She turned around to greet the slender, exotically beautiful Jedda Adzhin-Dall, who was wearing the customary white leggings and tunic of Deltan males, with sweeping sleeves and a broad, standing collar. The virginal white of the clothes and the fine-boned, naked skull gave the young scientist's appearance a strange, heart-wrenching purity. That was not a mere appearance: according to Deltan terms, Jedda was indeed spotlessly honourable. Cassiopeia often thought that certain members of the _Quorum of Twelve_ could learn a great deal about honour and morale from the oh-so-promiscuous Deltans. Including the ones she had to work with.

Smiling, they exchanged the delightful mental echoes of certain friendly emotions – Deltan telepathy worked differently than, say, that of Vulcans – by which Jedda fleetingly reminded the blonde _socialator_ that he was still interested. Lieutenant Ilia, the ship's lead navigator and one of Jedda's partners, knew about it, of course, and didn't find anything wrong with it. Cassiopeia was still indecisive, though. Even a fleeting affair with a Deltan would have put serious emotional strain on a mere human. Besides, she was more interested in long-term relationships, preferably with older men – and she didn't like to share. Therefore she evaded any binding answer with practiced ease and continued to stroll through her personal realm.

In an isolated corner she finally discovered the first true customer of the day: the first person who might really need her. She did not know the slender, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered Hindu male, nor could she remember having seen him before, but his coverall with the large pockets, from which the handles of various small, hand-held instruments were peeking out, revealed that he belonged to Engineering. Cassiopeia approached his table with light, steps, and as he didn't seem to acknowledge her presence, she simply took a seat without invitation.

"Can I bring you a drink?" she asked.

The man glanced up at her. His long, dark eyes were dull and exhausted. "I didn't know there was table service in the mess hall," he said.

"There isn't," Cassiopeia replied. "Not usually, that is. But sometimes I make an exception, especially for first-time customers."

"That is very generous of you, _Memsahib_," the man inclined his sleek, dark head in an almost ceremonial manner. "But the truth is that I don't drink."

"Not even tea?" Cassiopeia asked, and as the man didn't answer, she kept pushing. "What is your preferred blend?"

"Darjeeling," the Hindu replied automatically; then, with a crooked little smile, he added. "Hot and no sugar, if possible."

"Coming up right away," Cassiopeia rose with the grace of a cobra and glided to the food synthesizer. Fortunately, these new Nutritech units came programmed with a very wide variety of food and beverages. "Tee, Darjeeling, hot," she ordered. "One plain, one with a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg."

Two tall glasses materialized in the slot. Cassiopeia carefully removed them, sniffed on them to check which one belonged to whom, and placed one of them before the man on the round, marble-looking table. Then she sat down again.

"My name is Cassiopeia," she introduced herself. "I run this establishment here. And you're from Engineering, aren't you?"

"Assistant engineer Nahar Sing," the man inclined his head again. "I work with Mr. Scott."

"You're not in Starfleet?" Cassiopeia asked, looking for rank insignia on his coverall and finding none. "That is… unusual."

"I'm a civilian employee of Starfleet," the man explained. "My religion prohibits the use of weapons."

"Why have you joined Starfleet in the first place then?" Cassiopeia asked in surprise. "There's always the chance that violence would be used as a last resort."

Sing looked out of the window. Now that they weren't in Warp transfer, the stars looked like scattered diamonds upon dark velvet; it was a pretty sight.

"I always wanted to go to the stars," he said after a lengthy pause. "My family could never understand. Granted, we used to live in Calcutta… well, _near_ Calcutta anyway, but in an _ashram_, following traditions as they had been kept for a thousand years or more."

"Really?" Cassiopeia was truly curious now. "In what way?"

"My father was a Brahmin," Singh answered, "and an incredibly conservative one at that. We used to live in a cottage with no electricity and no running water… they called it holy poverty. My parents married me off when I was barely twelve. My 'wife' was about four."

"I didn't know that child marriage was still practiced anywhere aside from Vulcan," Cassiopeia said with a frown.

Certainly, on Old Virgon it had been a time-honoured practice to marry off young girls to established families, where they had been raised with their future spouses, until they reached legal maturity, but that was a very different thing, and besides, it had been almost completely abandoned after the destruction of the Old Colonies. She didn't know that such things were still allowed on Earth.

"It is not," Singh said. "Save from a few small sects, like the True Believers – the one my parents belonged to."

"How did you become an engineer in the first place?" Cassiopeia asked. "It seems to me that your family didn't hold technology in high esteem."

Singh shrugged. "They still had to obey the law and send me to school. There, my eyes were opened to all that the world could offer. I ran away at the age of sixteen and applied for a place at the University of Aberdeen. I never went home again."

"And your… _wife_?" Cassiopeia asked carefully.

"She never understood me, poor thing," Singh sighed. "I wanted to take her to me when I could finally afford it, but she didn't dare to follow me. The others looked after her; our sect doesn't accept divorce. She must have been a very lonely and unhappy woman, I fear."

"In past tense?" Cassiopeia already guessed what must have happened, but the man needed to talk about it.

"She died two years ago," Singh stared into his cooling tea darkly, "but I only learned about her passing right before the launching of our mission. I'm free now. I've always wanted _that_. But I never wanted her death."

"Did you have any feelings for her at all?" Cassiopeia asked quietly.

"Pity," Singh answered in a flat voice. "I felt pity for her… nothing else. As long as she was alive, I was faithful to her, as our laws demand… but in truth, she was never really my wife."

The _socialator_ nodded in understanding. It was a feeling she knew all too well from personal experience.

"Look," she said, "you are not responsible for her fate. You were both victims of a tradition that had long outgrown its justification. I've had the chance to study Hinduism a little, and what I can understand of it tells me that such extremes are not generally required. Your parents – and hers – simply lived in the past. It's not your fault."

"I still feel guilty, though," Singh said.

"That's understandable," Cassiopeia replied. "You have a lot of grieving to do before you can be truly free again. Grieving, not just over the fate of your wife but also over your own life… a lot has been taken from you, too. Have you thought of asking for professional help?"

"I'm not going to therapists!" Singh protested.

"Strange," Cassiopeia said. "Members of Starfleet seem to have a definitely paranoid view on psychologists. Is it true what Dr. Boyce, formerly the chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_ is reported to have said, that people prefer to talk about their problems to their barkeeper, rather than to their doctor?"

"I wouldn't know; as I said, I don't drink… aside from tea," Singh said with a forced smile.

Cassiopeia gave him a searching look. During her former career as a _socialator_, she often met people ravaged by bitterness and self-accusations. This here seemed to be a similar case.

"Well, in that case I might be the right person for you," she said calmly. "If you can make yourself trust me, that is."

"Perhaps," Singh replied after a lengthy silence. "You are the first person who's managed to make me talk about the whole thing as it is."

"That seems a good beginning to me," Cassiopeia rose, as further customers entered the rec deck, demanding her attention. "I go off-duty here at 21:00. Come to my office after that – it's right behind the bar – and we can discuss a counselling schedule."

She nodded to the engineer and left him alone, wishing that her own problems could be solved just that easily, with a little counselling. Unfortunately, things were never quite that easy.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2: The Astral Queen

**THE LOST YEARS**

**by Soledad**

**EPISODE 02: THE CHILD**

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Prologue.

**Author's notes: **The ship classes described here are from the _Star Fleet Technical Manual_ by Franz Joseph. The _Astral Queen_ as well as the various characters is canon. Some of them belong to the Animated Series or to the novels, though.

Kirk's family background is book canon, if one can speak about such thing considering a TV-series. According to the Original Series novel, his father was a security officer indeed, served under Captain April and was the first human ever seeing a Romulan. Lt. Arex's bacground is book-canon, too.

Captain Jon Daily is a character only heard through the ship-to-ship comm system in the episode "Charlie X". In my universe, he's played by Ron Canada.

**CHAPTER 02: THE **_**ASTRAL QUEEN**_

In a distance of forty-nine parsecs, the _Astral Queen_ (Naval Constructions Contract 3819), a _Keppler_-class Starfleet personnel transport ship, was heading to Starbase 13 with normal travelling velocity. This ship class belonged to the second generation transporters: to the MK VI/A-series, which was barely different from either the original MK VI-series or the newest models of the MK VI/B-series. It had a better navigations system than the original models and somewhat weaker deflectors than the newest ones, but basically, it was still the same ship class.

Captain Jon Daily, the commanding officer, ran his ship with the help of twenty-one officers and a hundred and ninety-eight enlisted personnel. That wasn't much, compared with the nearly five hundred crew of a heavy cruiser, but enough to operate the ship safely, as there was no science department aboard the _Astral Queen_. The crew practically consisted of engineers and technicians of various grades, plus a security contingent. The latter ones were all Starfleet-veterans, who'd grown too old for dangerous deep space missions, but their skills and experience could serve them on more peaceful posts for decades yet to come

Aside from them, each cargo- or personnel transport unit – nicknamed little flatteringly but properly 'containers' and joined with the tugger via specific docking ports – had its own crew, consisting of fifteen officers and one hundred and fifty enlisted personnel. These, too, were under the orders of the ship's captain (in theory, at least) from the moment of when the transport unit got attached to the ship, right beyond the discus-section.

The _Astral Queen_ had operated in every possible area of the transporting business since her commissioning. For the last fourteen years, she'd been a personnel transporter. Captain Daily liked to compare this area of work with that of the old, elegant cruise ships that had once travelled Earth's oceans, and, truth be told, he didn't regret having missed the great discoveries of deep space assignment – and the even greater dangers that came with them. He got to the stars in any case, and as a _starliner_ had relatively steady routes that only got changed in every five years or so, he got to know the planets and starbases that his ship regularly visited much better.

Granted, he'd never achieved fame like that of his friend and former Academy classmate, Jim Kirk – his career had begun aboard the _Astral Queen_ and would most likely end there. But he made a lot of friends among interesting peoples, and he was welcomed with open arms everywhere on his regular route, as if he'd come home.

Not to mention the passengers. On each trip, there were a few famous (or otherwise interesting) people whom he'd never have had the chance to meet anywhere else. The Astral_ Queen_ had already ferried diplomatic delegations, heads of various states, famous theatre companies, brilliant scientists on their way to receive the Nobel and Zee-Magnees prizes, relief crews for remote starbases or entire colonies… it would have been hard to list them all. And all those people were Captain Daily's personal guests. The commanding officers of the _starliners_, usually in the rank of a lieutenant commander, were only responsible for the administrative tasks.

During the decade and the half spent aboard the _Astral Queen_, Jon Daily had learned to handle the _starliner_ commanders (who were considered Second Officers of the ship at any given time) with proper respect, though, even if most of them tended to a hopelessly bureaucratic way of thinking. The crew of the cargo- or personnel 'containers' was considered a caste unto itself within Starfleet: they were closer to civilian space faring than to the Fleet. In spite of this, they had good connections and great influence, and any inconsiderate transport ship captain that made an enemy of them could forget good assignments for a very long time.

Jon Daily rarely had any problems in that area. This was partly due to the fact that he'd inherited a well-balanced, easy-going nature from his Centaurian mother… _and_ that he'd grown up on the Daran V-colony. Originally a Terran settlement, the colony had a numerous Centaurian, Deltan and Tellarite population as well, so that people had learned the high art of tolerance and accommodation to other races from their early childhood.

Captain Daily was also lucky that for the last three standard years the _Astral Queen_ had been permanently assigned to _Starliner_ NCC-4003. Or the other way round; this was really a matter of perspective… and the subject of endless, friendly banter between the two commanding officers _Starliner_ NCC-4003 was under the command of Lieutenant Commander Cavit, a calm and unshakable veteran, who'd already spent thirty-six years in the transport business and didn't intend to retire for another two decades or so. Daily hoped that he'd be as good as his word; during the years they'd served together, they had also developed a mutual respect and friendship.

The captain glanced at the helm console over the shoulder of the Catullan helmsman, whose long, purple-white hair was bound into a bun on the nape of his neck, so that it wouldn't bother him during work. The chronometer on the instrument board showed 17:00 board standard time, so Captain Daily rose from his command chair and stretched his back a little.

"Time for me to show some presence on the rec deck and make nice with the passengers," he said. "Mr. Thelin, the bridge is yours."

The tall, deceivingly fragile First Officer tilted his head to the side with the typical, bird-like Andorian gesture to signal his understanding.

"Aye-aye, Captain," he replied and took the captain's place. Strangely enough, he seemed taller sitting than standing, as – like Andorians in general – he had a long torso but relatively short legs. As he leaned forward in the command chair, his elbows on his knees, pointed chin resting in his palm, he reminded Daily of an oversized praying mantis that, by some weird chance of nature, ended up blue instead of green.

"_Starliner_, Deck D," Captain Daily said, stepping into the turbolift with a contented smile. For the umpteenth time, he realized how lucky he'd been that the _Astral Queen_ happened to have a vacancy for a lieutenant commander at the same time when Thelin got sorted out from the border guard, after another life-threatening injury… and nineteen years of border duty. Although the _starliners_ were hardly ever threatened by pirates (they preferred cargo ships that could bring them considerable profit), having such a battle-hardened veteran on board was comforting.

The turbolift fell free with him to the geometric middle of the discus-section; from there, it surged vertically to the leaning 'neck', where the transport ship and the _starliner_ were connected. There, following the layout of the 'neck', it continued in a diagonal line, up to the docking ring, where it stopped.

"Please change to the transport system of the _starliner_," the impersonal, mechanical voice of the computer told him.

Daily had been angry with the computer technicians who couldn't be bothered to do a better job with the word processor of his board computer for a long time. They could do that for the heavy cruisers just fine, so why not for the transport ships as well? He couldn't understand either, why it seemed impossible to connect the transport system of the ship and the _starliner_ directly. Why had he to get off the one and into the other one each time. It was so damned inconvenient!

Well, it was not within his powers to do anything about the transport system. The computer voice, however… perhaps he should allow that cauliflower-eared Tiburonian comm tech to play around with it a little. Even if it meant that Sanawey wouldn't speak to him for weeks.

Jon Daily imagined the sturdy, bear-strong yet surprisingly soft-spoken Native American navigator who wouldn't be brought out of his calm by anything – unless someone fooled around with the board systems – and grinned at the thought how the mild-mannered progeny of the fierce Mescalero-Apaches and the young, ambitious Tiburonian would go for each other's jugulars over the comm system. "Soulclaw" Sanawey, now well into his seventies, had begun his career as the astrotelemeter of the _Enterprise_, under Captain Robert April's command, so he understood a lot about basic communications. However, he had changed jobs a long time ago, and his knowledge was hopelessly outdated in these days. Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

"D-Deck," the _starliner_'s computer said, and as always, Jon Daily was comforted a bit by the fact that _this_ voice wasn't any less monotone than that of _his_ ship. Still, he firmly believed that the _Astral Queen_ deserved better.

Granted, the dear old workhorse couldn't be compared with Jim Kirk's ship, especially since the _Enterprise_ had been completely refitted, from the warp core to the transparent ceiling of the bridge. Nonetheless, Jon Daily found his ship beautiful and was very proud of her… with good reason. After all, the _Astral Queen_ didn't stay much behind the first-class heavy cruisers. She had a weight of 126,000 metric tons – empty! – her normal _and_ maximal travelling velocity matched that of the _Enterprise_, she had two high-yield phaser banks and a standard-sized discus-segment that was the same in every Starfleet ship, plus two long, graceful warp nacelles.

The only thing she lacked, compared with a heavy cruiser, was the huge secondary hull, housing the impulse engines. The impulse engines of the _Astral Queen_ were situated in the aft section of the discus, right at the diagonal 'neck'.

Jon Daily loved his ship and firmly believed that the _Astral Queen_ deserved her name. For that reason, he always saw that the painting of the snow white Queen's hull was renewed in time, whenever it seemed necessary, and he was glad that Lieutenant Commander Cavit shared his preferences for a spotless, shiny clean ship. If Jim Kirk's _Enterprise_ was like a white swan in full flight, the _Astral Queen_ reminded of the same swan, swimming peacefully on the surface of a still lake.

The two hundred metres long _starliner_ was a world unto itself. Its cylindrical hull was forty metres in diameter and consisted of eleven decks – eight for passengers, three for cargo – atop of a ten-metre-high fuel tank. It had its own bridge on the F-Deck, with sickbay and the assorted labs, and a library; impulse engines and brig on the G-deck, central computer and engineering on H-deck. Should anything happen to the _Astral Queen_ (Daily didn't like to think about that, but one had to consider all possibilities), the _starliner_ could provide the safety and the comfort of the passengers for another sixteen standard years, travelling at impulse like a lifeboat towards the next best colony or Starbase.

Captain Daily suppressed the uncomfortable thought in a great hurry (contrary to common belief, 23rd century skippers were sometimes every bit as superstitious as their 19th century counterparts commanding those big luxury liners on Earth's oceans) and, leaving the turbolift, he headed to the recreation area on the D-deck. This forty by forty metres room served as a concert hall, a dance floor, a holotheatre – and whatever other kind of entertainment the passengers might have been interested in.

In this relatively early hour, it was largely empty, of course, but there was an interesting little group gathered in he adjoining cafeteria. And this group was the actual reason for Captain Daily to think of Jim Kirk a lot more in these days than he would usually do.

When he'd learned that he'd transport additional crew for the _Enterprise_ to Starbase 13, he felt proud and envious at the same time. These feelings had the same roots: from the fact that Jim Kirk _always_ got the best and the brightest that Starfleet had to offer. Not battle-worn veterans (who, admittedly, were still considered the best catch in the transport industry) but young, brilliant, energetic officers on the peek of their abilities, the very best of the best of that which was available. People whom every starship captain would be glad to see aboard his (or her) ship.

Although he truly loved both his ship and his job, Jon Daily realized with melancholy that he'd never have such navigators serving under him as, for example, Lieutenant Arex. An Edosian, who, with his angular head and his relatively thin and crooked neck, his three arms and three legs, looked like a grotesque orange turtle that had lost its shield. Captain Daily had repeatedly visited Edos, back when the _Astral Queen_ had still transported cargo, and so he was well aware of the fact that all Edosian mammals and reptiles (and even some birds) had six limbs. It was still a sight that needed some getting used to, though.

Lieutenant Arex made the same impression as most of his species usually did – well, the very few of them who ever interacted with strangers, which was a rare enough thing for Edosians to do. He's shy, people would say. He's an introvert, others might add. Calm, disciplined, not someone who would push himself into the spotlight. Jon Daily, however, was one of the handful people who knew that Arex hadn't got his current rank by passing some exam – he got in on the field, in the firing line.

It had been one of those recurring skirmishes with the Klingons. A Bird of Prey had violated the Neutral Zone – again! – and there was just a small, _Destroyer_-class cruiser to stand in their way. When all senior officers of the USS _Suleiman_ had been killed as a result of the beating they had gotten from the Klingon ship, Ensign Arex took command to save the ship… and to keep the Klingons occupied until help would arrive. A deadly cat-and-mouse game followed, with retreat, hiding, then another battle with the much bigger and heavier armed ship. As a result, the Klingons suffered such severe damage that they had to surrender their ship and were subsequently given a trial for violating the Neutral Zone.

Arex was awarded with three different medals for his stellar performance: the _Citation of Conspicuous Gallantry_, the _Starfleet Medal of Honour_ and the_ Starfleet Medal of Valour_. The Starfleet communiqué released shortly afterwards (for internal use only, as one did not want to frighten the average Federation citizen with such news) honourably mentioned his exceptional bravery and creative actions. Daily had seen said medals with his own eyes, on a festive banquet at Starfleet HQ, and happened to know that Arex only kept them because it was expected from him to wear them on certain _very_ official events.

At the beginning of this particular journey, though, Lieutenant Arex had emphatically asked the captain of the _Astral Queen_ not to tell about all this anyone. He would die form embarrassment if people started to ask him about those events, he explained.

Jon Daily considered such modesty a bit overdone – almost paranoid, in fact. But he had to admit that this very modesty had enabled the Edosians to survive in the same galaxy as such aggressive races as the Klingons, the Romulans and the Kzinti. Edos wasn't a full member of the Federation, but a close enough ally to send cadets to Starfleet Academy and other nameworthy universities. The isolated location of their homeworld provided an additional layer of protection: Edos was situated in the Triangular-cluster; on the outer rim of the spiral arm. The same location made it a highly valued starting point for scientific expeditions researching the Galaxy's outer energy barrier. Fortunately for them, this was _not_ the area where any main galactic power would want to expand its area of interests.

Being a relatively long-living species, Edosians could afford to contemplate life in a calm and detached manner. Their entire civilization centered on their homes and families, and they had little to no interest in politics. Neutral by their very nature, their alliance with the Federation was based on sheer practicality: the Federation was the important galactic power most likely to leave them alone, and that was what mattered the most for them.

There was very little known about them, and Captain Daily, who had a strong personal interest in foreign cultures, had been wanting to learn more about their lifestyle for a long time. There were so many questions he'd have liked to ask. Questions that went beyond such everyday Edosian weirdness as laying eggs and letting the freshly hatched babies grow in a pouch on the backs of the _carriers_: the third gender of their species. He was afraid, though, that he would never get the chance to ask those questions. Edosians were deeply private people, even more so than Vulcans.

Edosian social behaviour was very different from the human norm, and it expressed itself, among other things, in the tendency to spend one's free time alone, in quiet contemplation. Nevertheless, Captain Daily was not surprised to find Lieutenant Arex in the cafeteria… again. Lieutenant Carolyn Palamas, the incredibly charming A&A officer of the _Enterprise_ was, hard to resist. Daily had been amazed to lean that not only did the lovely young lady own two degrees in social sciences, but she also had been the celebrated star of the modern Olympic Games in the _quadriga_ category for years.

There were no scientists among the crew of the _Astral Queen_, and so Daily wasn't used to work with people who could have seats at the best universities. Besides, he also knew from a reliable source that Lieutenant Palamas had taken part in several dangerous planetary missions, played a crucial role in their lucky outcome, and that she was a crack shot with the phaser.

Said reliable force was nobody else but Montgomery Scott, currently the chief engineer of the _Enterprise_; once, however – at the same time when a young and completely green Jon Daily had begun his service – a young assistant engineer aboard the _Astral Queen_. He had been the one who'd taught Daily to love his ship like a lady, saying that if he treated the ship that way, the ship would treat him like a lady would his suitor.

Carolyn Palamas hailed from Alpha III; a world famous of its Statutes, based on Plato's writings. And officially listed as a citizen of Alpha III was Alexander, an immigrant from Platonia, who was also heading to the _Enterprise_. The dwarf-sized Platonian didn't wear a Starfleet uniform – after all, he was supposed to work on Jim Kirk's ship as a civilian maintenance tech of the rec deck – but a suit after the latest fashion on Alpha III. He was as outgoing and talkative as Lieutenant Arex was quiet and introvert – and yet they seemed to get along just fine.

The fourth member of the group was M'Roaa, a distinctly feline creature with lion-like features, a flaming red mane, a long tail and large, amber eyes. She was the diplomatic representative of Caitia – the second planet of the 15 Lyncis system that was believed to have been colonized by the Kzinti a long time ago. Unlike their relatives, the Caitian race was not hostile in nature. Their reputation as one of the most cooperative and intelligent members of the Federation made them much sought after in diplomatic circles. M'Roaa herself was a highly valued and skilled diplomat, and Captain Daily hoped to talk with her about the recent events in the Iacta Tau system.

"Come, Captain, join us," Aleek-om, a Whitiki – an Aurelian birdman on his way back from Memory Alpha – waved at him. "Lieutenant Palamas had just told us some fascinating facts about the Ancient Greek culture that bloomed on Terra three thousand or so years ago. Did you know that a few of their philosophers had created a cosmology that was strikingly similar to modern theories?"

"Captain Daily would be hardly interested in our geeky conversations, Aleek-om," Carolyn Palamas said with a friendly smile while Daily accepted the invitation. "I'm sure he has more pressing matters on his mind."

"As a matter of fact, I _am_ interested in foreign cultures, whether they hail from a different planet or a different time," Daily said. "I heard you've served as a junior diplomat in the recent years, Lieutenant. In the Kobol-sector, I'm told?"

"I've visited several of the New Colonies, yes," Palamas replied. "It was an… interesting experience, to say the least. Their cultures and societies are so different, despite a thousand or more years of shared past, that they could have been completely different species. And there are lots of underlying tension among them: problems that have been swept under the carpet as long as the more pressing issue of the Cylon threat existed. Now, however, that the Cylons are gone…"

"…the old adversaries might turn against each other anew," M'roaa finished for her. "Yes, I've got the same impression while visiting New Aquarius a few months ago. And with that new and inexperienced President of theirs, I'm not sure how long a shared governing body will be able to overcome the brooding hostility and competition under the surface. Especially now that the new colonies are scattered across four different solar systems."

"There's definitely a merciless power struggle going on," Palamas said thoughtfully. "The old ruling caste deems determined to come back to full power, after thousand years of relatively democratic government."

"Democratic?" Aleek-om asked doubtfully. "I thought they were under military law until recently."

Palamas nodded. "They were. Which was, no doubt, the best thing that could have happened. The military commanders had a much better sense for what was needed to survive on the flight – or before that, during the so-called _Thousand Yahren War_ – than the constantly squabbling members of the _Quorum of Twelve_."

"The new _Quorum_ is a lot better than the old one seemed to have been," M'roaa clarified. "But the refounding of a society after such a long period of war is never an easy thing."

"Not to mention _twelve_ societies," Palamas added. "If we don't count low-numbered refugee groups like the Nomen, the Tucanans and the Delphinians, that is. Or the Hasari. In any case, it won't be an easy process. I'm looking forward to discuss the intricacies with Colonel Tigh and his staff aboard the _Enterprise_. Speaking of which, Captain, do you think we'll be able to keep our ETA? I know you've risked quite the delay by waiting for us."

"Oh, that's not so bad," Daily waved off her concern. "We're not a regular civilian flight, after all. We belong to Starfleet, too. And the _Enterprise_ does have certain privileges, as we all know."

"I understand that you studied at Starfleet Academy at the same time as Captain Kirk," M'roaa said in that deep, purring voice of hers.

Daily nodded. "We even used to be room-mates in the second year."

"Tell me something about him," M'roaa asked. "It would help me to understand him better, in case we need to communicate on the diplomatic level."

Daily laughed. "Is he such a mystery for you?"

The Caitian diplomat narrowed her amber eyes. "Sometimes, yes… and that would be a disadvantage during negotiations."

"Very well," Daily said agreeably; in fact, he didn't mind to gossip a little about his old pal Kirk. "He's always been very self-confident, you know. Perhaps because his father had already been a highly decorated Starfleet Security officer… of course, his results were excellent, too. The only problem he could never solve was the problem called Finnegan."

Lieutenant Palamas leaned forward in her armchair with interest. "Do you mean Commander Bruce Dern Finnegan who died a hero at the Tholian border two years ago?"

"Did you know him?" Daily asked back.

Palamas nodded. "Not personally, but he hailed from my homeworld and was highly respected back home. People were certain he had what one needed to become an Admiral, eventually."

"That's possible," Daily shrugged. "There's no way to know it now… which is a shame. Well, Finnegan was one year our senior – and for some reason, he couldn't stand Jim Kirk. He considered Jim a self-absorbed brat and used every chance to pull mean pranks on him. When Jim was made instructor of the new first-year-cadets, Finnegan laid down his task as a tactical trainer out of protest and accepted an assignment to the border patrols. That's the way with Jim: people either love him or hate him."

"Is that true for you, too?" Aleek-om asked.

Daily shook his head. "Our ambitions never clashed, so we could get along amiably enough. But we never developed a close friendship."

"Did he have any friends at the Academy at all?" Aleek-om continued his inquiry.

"Yes, of course," Daily nodded. "There was Gary Mitchell, to begin with, who'd almost managed to get him married to that blonde lab tech, what was her name again? Carol something… I heard she's become a respected scientist in the meantime. And then there was Ben Finney."

"Apparently, it's bad luck to be his friend, though," Arex commented quietly; the fact that he got involved in the conversation at all surprised everyone a bit. "As far as I know Lieutenant Commander Mitchell died soon after Captain Kirk had received command over the _Enterprise_. And Mr. Finney, as we all know, ended up on Elba II."

Daily hesitated for a moment, very different emotions flashing across his broad, dark, intelligent face in quick pursuit. "The truth is," he finally said dryly, "that Jim Kirk wasn't always… choosy about the methods that levelled his way to his intended goal. So far, he has never been called upon it – because he always provided the results the brass expected from him."

"Do you envy him for that?" the Edosian asked, his large, bulbous reptilian eyes fixed on the human unblinkingly.

Daily shrugged. "It has often angered me that he could afford stunts other people would have been court-martialled for; and I know I'm not the only Starfleet officer who feels the same way. I don't see the spotless hero in him the media likes to show to the outsiders, but it's a fact that he does his job well. The rest is sheer luck; you _do_ need a great deal of luck to get your ship back from deep space relatively unharmed. But no, I do not envy him… well, save from the fact that I'd love to have some of his people on _my_ ship. Other than that, though, I'm fairly content."

Carolyn Palamas smiled at him. "You remember me of Scotty, Captain. You love your ship every bit as he does the _Enterprise_, don't you?"

"That I do," Daily agreed proudly. "She's a good ship… a gorgeous ship. She does her job excellently, and she's important."

The dwarf Alexander gave him a curious look. "Don't you wish sometimes to have command of and exploratory vessel like the _Enterprise_?" he asked. "Not even secretly?"

Daily shook his head. "Honestly? No, I don't – not even secretly," he replied. "Such missions can easily lead to the destruction of a ship, and for that is me my _Queen_ way too precious. The only thing that bothers me a little is the fact that simple, honest work still gets so little appreciation. People always fall for the extraordinary… although without us, simple workhorses, the great deep space expeditions couldn't even get launched to begin with."

"Sadly, that is very true," Palamas nodded. "At least for humans. Try to talk more to Vulcans, Captain. They have a good eye for truly significant things."

They all laughed. Captain Daily shook off his temporary bad mood and relaxed a little in the company of such pleasant passengers.

"Speaking of interesting missions," he said, "Do you know any details about the recent crisis on Thimsel? I heard the _Enterprise_ was heavily involved. It had to be a pressing issue if Jim Kirk was forced to set off without a complete crew."

"Well, I wasn't on board yet, of course," Palamas replied thoughtfully, "so all I have is second-hand information. However, my source is Dr. T'Pel, the Vulcan sociologist and history expert who's currently working aboard the _Enterprise_, so I can be reasonably sure that the information is reliable, down to the minuscule details."

The others laughed again, for Vulcan accuracy was, indeed, legendary – to the point of becoming boring. Palamas smiled, too, with that timeless, almost archaic smile only usually seen on ancient Greek or Etruscan statues. From the progeny of a Greek father and a Finnish mother, whose features and colouring she had inherited, it was quite the sight, but it also fit. The citizens of Alpha III granted the classical education of their children great importance, regardless of their future occupation.

"Is it true that there was a conspiracy of considerable format behind the Thimsel-crisis?" Daily insisted. He always did his best to stay well-informed about Federation politics; for someone who was always on his way from one world to another, it could prove crucial. "The Starfleet-communiqués were suspiciously reserved about the political aspect."

Palamas nodded. "And rightly so. It was a truly twisted affair. As far as I can figure out what was going on behind the scenes – and I'll have to consult Lieutenant M'Botabwe for the exact details yet – it was basically an attempt of the _Free Merchants' Guild_ to take control of the colony. And it seems that they've come dangerously close to succeeding."

"What?!" Like every transport ship captain, Jon Daily had had his fair share of run-ins with the representatives of the aggressive _Free Merchants' Guild_. As a rule, most of the _Free Merchants_ were little better than pirates, the scum of the many different peoples of the Federation, especially in the less tightly controlled outer sectors of Federation territory. Still, they were so good at keeping up the appearance of legality that local authorities had a hard time to convict them.

"If the _Free Merchants_ had their hands in the game, the Pirates of Orion couldn't be far, either," he added. "It's generally known that the _Guild_ does business with the Orions."

"This time they've really tried to go the whole nine miles," Palamas agreed. "A very wealthy _Free Merchant_ from Rigel VI, by the name of Marouk ibn Haziz alFaisal, made Thimsel his centre of operations – and extended his power piece by piece over the entire planet. After a few years, he arranged a 'tragic accident' for the legally elected governor and simply took the office."

"How is that possible?" Aleek-om asked with a frown. "Thimsel was a shared colony of several Federation worlds. There should have been safety protocols to prevent exactly such things."

"I'm not sure, as the details are classified," Palamas replied, "but I think he'd been the late governor's aide or counsellor… whatever. Fact is, he made a secret deal with the ruling caste of Ardana. The Ardanans built him a city-tower amidst the ocean, with a perfect surveillance system based on the manipulation of human brainwaves. This 'joy machine', as they called it, made everyone addicted in a very short time."

"How?" the Whitiki was completely baffled.

Palamas shrugged. "I'm not a neuropsychologist," she said. "Apparently, it had something to do with the stimulation of the human brain's pleasure centre… and it worked not only for humans but for several other humanoid species as well. In any case, Governor Marouk had brought Troglytes from Ardana to work on the ore processing plants. The workers had been intensively conditioned on their way to Thimsel, so that they already arrived with a full-blown addiction."

"That's slavery!" Jon Daily was truly appalled. His own ancestors had been driven by slavers from Africa to Louisiana, many centuries earlier, to labour on the cotton fields. He felt very strongly about such things.

"Wait, it comes worse," Palamas said. "At the same time, Marouk had brought in female Orion slaves. Not the green savages, who are luxury items, but the ones from the regular stock. The population of Thimsel jumped from sixty thousand to half a million within five years. Agricultural projects had been stopped in preference for exclusive ore mining. The workers were mostly Troglytes, labouring up to sixteen hours a day. With the help of the _Free Merchants_, the ore was sold to Orion, Ardana and other interested worlds. And since Thimsel's population had a very small Terran percentage left, Marouk was already planning to declare independence."

"With Ardana's support, he'd have managed to pull it through," M'roaa added in concern. "It's time, I think that the Federation Council gave some thought such legal matters, before we're facing another such precedence."

"Had that Marouk character succeeded, the _Guild_ would have been able to establish a beachhead in a little-controlled sector within Federation territory, which is something they've been trying for quite some time," Daily said grimly. "They'd have been hard to stop after that. But why would Ardana do business with them?"

"The political situation on Ardana is precarious at best," Palamas explained. "Captain Kirk's interference on behalf of the Troglytes, albeit completely justified in the moral sense, has upset the caste system on Mu Leonis II, and the entire society has been struggling for years to find a new footing. They haven't quite succeeded yet. Troglytes go to seek work off-world in large numbers, but it's hard to tell whether they do it voluntarily, or it's the government that wants to have them removed from the planet."

"Do you think that the crisis on Thimsel might lead to a political upheaval within the Federation?" Aleek-om asked.

Carolyn Palamas thought about it for a moment, then she looked at M'roaa, the only currently active diplomat among them, who shook her head.

"No, I don't think so," the Caitian said. "The worlds involved are simply not important enough; although I don't doubt that heads will roll nonetheless. Ardana will be probably questioned by the Federation Council… perhaps stricter sanctions will be established in the future to protect the democratic institutions. We'll see."

"Will there be a way to prove the direct involvement of the Ardanan ruling caste?" Daily asked.

"Hardly," Palamas said. "They've sent workers to various colonies of the Kobol-sector as well, and _those_ had the request officially sent and well-documented."

"So, that leaves us with whom?" Daily asked. "This Marouk person and his immediate cronies? Not exactly big fish, if you ask me."

"On the contrary," Palamas replied. "The loss of Marouk alFaisal is going to disturb the smooth operation of the _Guild_ a great deal. He might not have been one of the big bosses, but he _was_ a key player in their game. Not to mention that Nilz Baris, the Federation undersecretary of agrarian affairs, has fallen with him, having co-operating with him for years."

"Is it known where the trial will be held?" Lieutenant Arex asked.

"On Minerva, apparently," Palamas answered. Jon Daily suddenly broke into a _very_ broad grin hearing that.

"In that case, they'll find themselves in quite a tight spot," he said with deep satisfaction. "The district attorney of Minerva is Lieutenant Commander Areel Shaw, and she's damn good at her job. Hell, a few years ago she nearly managed to break Jim Kirk's neck, having him sentenced for a murder he had not committed, and that despite the infamous Kirk luck! But if Minerva is involved, then Commodore Mendez is in trouble, too."

"Not directly," Palamas said. "While it's true that Mr. Baris had his official seat on Minerva, in fact he's operated from Thimsel for quite some time lately. Commodore Mendez had no way to know what he was up to. Starfleet personnel has no jurisdiction over the Federation administrativa."

"Perhaps," Daily allowed. "But were Commodore Stone still the commander of Starbase 11, Baris and his allies wouldn't have gotten away with their little scheme so easily. José Mendez is a good man but not nearly hard enough. Elijah Stone would have discovered Baris' game early on and snipped it in the bud."

"He's said to be quick and a bit heavy-handed," Palamas agreed, "but not even he is infallible."

"You mean Jim Kirk's court-martial?" Daily shrugged. "That was not his fault. _Everybody_ believed in Jim's guilt… even his own defence attorney, at first."

"You too?" Palamas asked quietly.

Daily shook his head. "Me? Nah. Jim didn't need to kill Ben Finney in such a treacherous way. He could have had the man simply reassigned to another ship, if necessary. Besides, he's not wired that way. Had I heard that he'd beaten Finney to bloody pulp in a brawl, I might have believed it. But killing someone in cold blood, using a computer to do so… no, that would be diagonally opposite his true nature."

"That was what Mr. Spock said, too," Palamas laughed; then she became a little sad. "We shall miss him."

"Speaking of which, who's the new First Officer and Science Officer of the _Enterprise_, now that both positions had been vacated by Mr. Spock's retirement?" Aleek-om asked.

"Lieutenant Willard Decker has been assigned as the new XO," Palamas replied.

Daily gave her an interested look. "You mean the son of the late Commodore Matt Decker? He's aboard the _Enterprise_ now?"

"Yes, Captain Kirk has personally asked for him, it's said. I assume out of friendship towards the Lieutenant's father."

"Matthew Decker was a great man," Jon Daily said. "We all admired him, both as a person and as a commanding officer. Very few staff officers possess the natural authority he had. And even in his death, he served others. Without his sacrifice, Jim Kirk couldn't have figured out in time how the planet killer could be destroyed. And without the _Constellation_, they wouldn't have had the means to do so. I'm glad Jim has taken the boy under his wings. Will is very talented; the engineering and science sections of the Academy had competed for him during his studies. I heard he's taken part in the refitting of the _Enterprise_ as Mr. Scott's aide. And if Scotty accepts someone who's still green behind the ears and hadn't even chosen Engineering as his main field, that means a lot.

Palamas nodded. "I know. Nonetheless, the young Decker is going to have a hard time to fill his father's shoes… or to replace Mr. Spock as First Officer."

"That's likely," Daily agreed. "And who's this new Vulcan aboard, the science officer?"

"I don't know him," Palamas answered. "He's said to be very young and to come from the science colony Vulcana Regar. They also say he's absolutely brilliant, even in Vulcan terms, but inexperienced. This is his first deep space assignment."

"He, too, is going to have a hard time," Daily said with a bit of compassion. "Jim had such a high opinion about Spock; he won't get used to a new Vulcan easily. What's Commander Spock doing right now?"

"He's retired from Starfleet and accepted the seat of the dean at the Vulcan Science Academy," Palamas said. "However, there are rumours that he'd be planning to retreat to the desert of Gol."

"That would be a great loss for the scientific community, as in that case there's little chance for him to resurface again," Daily said. "If a Vulcan decides to go to the Gol-Masters to pursue _kolinahr_, they're never seen again, as a rule."

"You're well-informed about Vulcan traditions, Captain," Aleek-om congratulated him.

"I'm married to one," seeing the baffled faces of his passengers, Daily added with a faint smile. "It happens, rare though it is. My wife was widowed and worked for the Trade Office in ShanaiKahr, back when the _Astral Queen_ still flew the Vulcan route. She considered a bonding with me the logical thing to do and made me an offer when we've known each other for two years. We're recorded as citizens of Daran V, though. That gives us more personal freedom."

While the others were still digesting this particular piece of information, the intercom buzzed.

"Bridge to Captain Daily," came the husky voice of the Andorian First Officer through the loudspeakers.

Daily activated his wrist communicator. "Go on, Mr. Thelin."

"Captain, we've attempted to establish the scheduled contact with the _Enterprise_…"

"Your choice of words suggest that you've been unsuccessful," Daily replied mildly.

"Aye, sir," Thelin acknowledged. "But there's more. According to our long-range sensor readings, the _Enterprise_ isn't where she should be – if she's followed the pre-destined route, that is."

"Where is she then?" Daily frowned.

"I can't tell, sir," the Andorian replied. "There are strong electromagnetic disturbances in that sector. Locating the _Enterprise_ is currently not possible."

"Oh, please no electromagnetic storms!" Daily knew all too well what _that_ would mean: a lengthy, forced break in the dry-dock of Starbase 13, which could have thrown over the flight plans of the next three or four standard months. "Can you contact Starbase 13?"

"Positive, sir."

"Good. Send Commodore Stone a detailed report and go to maximum warp. Should these disturbances move our way, I want the _Queen_ safely in dry-dock when they reach us. Please inform Commander Cavit as well. I'm on my way. Daily out."

The captain rose and gave his passengers an apologetic look.

"I'm truly sorry, but I must return to the bridge. Things don't look promising out there. The only comfort is that Starfleet Command had the common sense to entrust Starbase 13 to 'Hannibal' Stone, of all people."

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3: The Cloud

**THE LOST YEARS**

**by Soledad**

**EPISODE 02: THE CHILD**

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Prologue.

**Author's note:**

I have no idea if the connection between Deltan sight and inner hearing is biologically possible or not. But since they are supposed to be a species much older and much more advanced than mankind, I thought it would be a fun ability to have.

**CHAPTER 03: THE CLOUD**

**Captain's Log, Stardate: **

**James T. Kirk recording.**

**After having solved the Thimsel-crisis to the general satisfaction of the respective governments of Earth, Alpha Centauri VII, Deneb IV and Tellar, the **_**Enterprise**_** is on her way to Starbase 13, where we are going to take the last group of crewmembers aboard. We'll be also receiving our new orders from Commodore Stone, the base commander. Personally, I'm looking forward to meet an old friend and to have some R&R, after our first – and rather stressful – mission.**

Kirk touched the Pause taste, ordering his thoughts. Then, after a moment, he continued.

**Lieutenant Commander Willard Decker has more than justified my trust in his abilities. He might be young and inexperienced, but he will be an excellent commanding officer one day. As for our new science officer, Lieutenant Xon has been very reserved so far. He has not repeated the mistakes of his first day of bridge duty, which is, at least, promising. But he seems to consciously avoid his fellow staff officers; a behaviour that Mr. Spock never displayed. I might have to speak with him about it, as it does **_**not**_** improve the working atmosphere of Alpha shift. Kirk out.**

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the meantime, this being the Gamma shift – or graveyard shift, as it was generally nicknamed – the object of Captain Kirk's concern was having command of the main bridge. Usually, this would have been Lieutenant Jaeger's shift, but since Lieutenant Jaeger was coming aboard at Starbase 13, someone had to fill his place. Kirk had thought that Xon would profit from the command experience and scheduled him for bridge duty so that he would gain some.

Xon didn't really mind. This was the proverbial milk run if there ever had been any, and even Gamma shift ran with ersatz personnel, to give them the chance to become familiar with the refitted board systems. As a result, the bridge was filled with junior officers on their first tour aboard the _Enterprise_.

The atmosphere was relaxed, routine… almost bored. Ensign Saul Bernstein, the chief helmsman of Gamma shift – a lanky human from the Hasidim colony in his mid-thirties, with a somewhat saturnine sense of humour – could have flown the ship on this route with his eyes closed. Lieutenant Park, the science officer on duty – a small, rotund Tellarite female whose special field was radiation biology, one of the newest border disciplines – was working on some personal project for her second dissertation, while keeping half an eye on the readings. She was a highly capable researcher who could multitask with the best.

Xon himself was relaxing in the command chair – as far as it was possible for a Vulcan in his situation – and while a diminutive part of his extremely well-organized mind was overseeing the bridge routine, the rest of his mental energy was being channelled through the safe pathways of meditation. It wasn't very different from a human praying the rosary during an uneventful duty shift, really… if one left the complexity of the Vulcan psyche, and the absolute necessity to keep it firmly grounded, out of consideration. Young for a Vulcan, Xon needed these exercises even more, serving on a ship full of humans and other blatantly illogical beings.

He was startled out of his meditation by Ensign Bernstein who perked up at the helm a bit.

"There's something on the forward viewer, Mr. Xon," he reported, eager to escape routined boredom, if only for a minute. Looks like a nebula of some sort."

That was a fairly unscientific definition, but Xon refrained from correcting the helmsman. He'd already learned that humans didn't take such corrections kindly, for some reason, illogical as it seemed to cling to one's misconceptions.

"Slow to warp factor one, Mr. Bernstein," he ordered. "Sensor scans, Lieutenant Park."

Bernstein nodded enthusiastically, the long locks that hung over his ears down to almost touching his collarbone – this had something to do with his religion, so regulations yielded – bouncing merrily, and carried out the order. At the same time, Lieutenant Park pushed a sequence of buttons in front of her and consulted the hooded viewer for the results of the scans. She was a highly efficient science officer and a lot easier to get along with than your regular Tellarite.

"This is not a nebula, sir," she reported excitedly. "I'm picking up several kinds of energy _and_ radiation readings. I've never seen anything like this before." Which was a lot to say, as Park had seen a great many things during her thirteen years of duty in Starfleet.

Xon was aware of that, of course. A Vulcan eyebrow slowly climbed up to the neat hairline.

"Put it on the main viewer, Mr. Bernstein," he ordered.

Bernstein hit a button, and a swirling gaseous mass appeared on the main screen. It had pulsing points of light within it that moved about like fish darting through water.

"Magnify," Xon said, fascinated by the pattern.

Bernstein shook his head, his long locks bouncing again. "We're at maximum magnification, sir. This is the best I can offer you – so far. But we're heading right for it."

Xon rose from the command chair and approached his more natural place, the science console, currently occupied by Lieutenant Park. "Any conclusive data, Ms Park?" he asked.

Narrowing her short-sighted eyes, the Tellarite looked into the hooded viewer again. "No visible danger, sir," she reported. "Radiation and electromagnetic readings all within our tolerance limits. If you'd care to see for yourself…" she stood and stepped aside to allow Xon to look into the viewer briefly.

"You're quite correct, Lieutenant," the Vulcan declared. "Force fields to manual," he added, directing his words to the security officer on duty. "Point eight five deflection aspect."

"Are we taking the _Enterprise_ through, sir?" Park asked. "This is a phenomenon we should survey and map."

"I quite agree," Xon answered, "But I prefer not to do it without consulting the captain first."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Needless to say that Captain Kirk did _not_ appreciate being called out of his resting period to take a look at some unknown gaseous anomaly. Although he'd never admit, he had reached the age in which a man began to appreciate an undisturbed night's rest in his own, comfortable bed. On the other hand, he couldn't really blame Xon. As harmless as the anomaly seemed to the prefunctionary sensor readings, one could never tell in advance whether it would turn out dangerous by closer inspection. There were more things in deep space than one could imagine, most of them treacherous.

Deciding that misery loved company, Kirk ordered all senor officers to the bridge. When he got there some ten minutes later, the _Enterprise_ had already come to full stop, having lain behind half the distance to the anomaly. Now they were close enough for a detailed view.

Saul Bernstein half-rose to allow Sulu to take his place but the chief helmsman just shook his head and gestured him to stay where he was. Sulu had begun his career in the science department as an astrophysicist, and his career change had not diminished his fascination with unknown cosmic phenomena. He wanted to focus on this one, without having to care for the helm.

"Full magnification," Kirk ordered.

"Full magnification, aye," Bernstein threw a switch on his console, and in the next moment, the main viewer was filled with _something_… something none of them had ever seen before. Not even anything remotely similar.

At first sight, it looked like a cloud. At least that was how one could have described it, lacking the correct scientific terminology. Indeed, it was a great deal like those layered clouds often seen upon Earth's sky – for the naked eye anyway – illuminated from below in a wide angle by the reddish rays of the setting sun. This faint, reddish glimmer seemed to jump from layer to layer like a living thing. All eyes were fastened on the main screen in absolute awe, save those of Xon, who was standing behind Lieutenant Park at Science Station I, absorbed in the readings.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

Kirk turned to him impatiently. "Can you tell us something, Lieutenant?"

"The data are still insufficient to build a solid hypothesis, sir," the young science officer answered. "And unfounded speculation is unbecoming of a self-respecting scientist."

"Try nonetheless," Kirk said dryly.

Xon gave him a disapprovingly raised eyebrow but obeyed. "Well, Captain, this… _cloud_ seems to be in a somewhat fluidic state between matter and energy," he said.

"It… _seems to be_?" Kirk repeated slowly.

"Aye, sir. If our sensor scans are correct (and I see no reason why they should _not_ be correct), is this… _cloud_," Xon still seemed to hesitate to use this practical but scientifically unfounded term, "neither fully matter nor fully energy. This is a cosmic phenomenon unlike anything any Federation starship has ever encountered."

"Are sure about that?" Will Decker asked doubtfully.

Xon exercised himself in the unparalleled Vulcan virtue of patience. "You can check it with the library computer, of course, but I am quite certain that you will find nothing, sir," he replied; then he added in a somewhat dry manner. "Particle physics is one of my fields of expertise, after all."

Kirk looked around at the concerned faces of his senior officers. "Any suggestions?" he asked.

"Subspace channels are temporarily useless, sir, due to heavy disturbances," Uhura, who was checking the readings of the comm-console over Lieutenant M'ress' shoulder, told him. "I suggest putting more distance between us and this… phenomenon, whatever it is. We won't be able to use subspace radio as long as we're this close."

"We could take the ship through it," Sulu suggested brightly. "That thing lies directly in our way. Let's see what it does when we tickle it a bit."

"Are ye daft, Mr Sulu?" Scotty demanded, exasperation thickening his accent to new dimensions. "Xon has just told ye we havnae a clue what the bloody thing is! How do ye think the shields are gonna react to it?"

"That's something I'd like to find out," the chief helmsman declared with a broad grin.

Kirk glanced at the concerned security chief. Since he'd taken over his new post, Chekov had been concerned without a break. "What do you think, Mr Chekov?"

The Russian shook his head. "I wouldn't take any unnecessary risks, Keptin." Since he'd taken over his new post, Pavel Andreievich had become a sworn enemy of risk-taking. "We could fly _around_ the cloud and still gather valuable data."

Before taking over as chief of security, Chekov had not only been the chief navigator of the _Enterprise_ but also worked for Spock on a regular basis. Apparently, he hadn't completely lost all scientific interests at the Security Academy.

"So, nobody aside from Sulu would vote for a journey _through_ the cloud?" Kirk asked with slight disappointment. Now that he'd seen it, his curiosity was picked, and he'd have liked to learn more about it. They were an exploratory ship, after all.

"Oh, but I would," Lieutenant Ilia said quietly. "I'd just _love_ to go through it. It would be a criminal waste not to take a closer look, even if it _does_ involve certain risks. We won't likely get another chance."

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" Kirk turned to the Vulcan. "Could the cloud mean any danger for the _Enterprise_?"

"Without further observation I cannot offer any solid theory," Xon repeated his previous declaration. "I need more data. However, if I am allowed to make a suggestion…"

"Of course you are, Lieutenant," Kirk replied sarcastically. "That is what you are here for, isn't it?"

"Indeed, Captain," Xon said politely.

"And your suggestion would be…?" Kirk found it hard _not_ to urge his new science officer. Xon, perhaps because of his youth, or perhaps because he'd grown up on the isolated scientific colony of Vulcana Regar, apparently found it more complicated to interact with humans than Spock had.

That, or Kirks own prejudices got in the way of his judgement. It _was_ hard to watch this youngling occupy a place that would have belonged to Spock.

"You should consult Dr. Adzhin-Dall," Xon said simply. "As far as I know, he I currently one of the best scientist in the fields of bipolar mathematics and particle physics."

"That's an excellent suggestion, Lieutenant," Kirk nodded. "I should have thought about it myself. Lieutenant M'ress, please call Dr. Adzhin-Dall to the bridge."

"Aye-aye, sir," the orange-maned Caitian comm officer was already at it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A few minutes later the turbolift door opened and allowed Jedda Adzhin-Dall onto the bridge. All women present – with the exception of Lieutenant Ilia – turned away from him immediately to pull themselves together again. Deltan pheromones had the same invisible yet irresistible effect on the opposite gender as ultrasound on certain animals. The reaction was purely reflexive, and the only thing one could do against it was to wait until it ebbed down.

The slender, broad-shouldered Deltan scientist was used to such reactions, of course, and pretended not to have noticed the embarrassment of the ladies. He was every bit as elegant and graceful as his partner, Lieutenant Ilia, but his wide amethyst eyes showed that he belonged to the less numerous _resh-da_ population. This small tribe lived on the southwestern continent of 114 Delta V and trained the best terraforming (well, actually deltaforming) experts in the known galaxy.

"I've been watching the phenomenon on the viewer of Stellar Cartography, Captain," he said without preamble; his voice was musical yet not the least feminine, and he had an exotic accent that made even a language as plain as Standard sound pleasant. "I must agree with Mr. Xon: this is something no Federation scientist has seen before. The readings…"

"Please spare me the details fort he moment, Dr. Adzhin-Dall," Kirk interrupted. "Tell me just this: can we risk taking the _Enterprise_ directly through the cloud?"

"With impulse? Most certainly," the Deltan replied without hesitation. "I wouldn't risk going to warp _within_ the cloud, though – or even in its immediate neighbourhood. There's a good chance that it won't cause any problems, but as I said, this is a completely unknown phenomenon, so caution can't harm. We know nothing about it yet."

"And you'd just love to change that fact, wouldn't you?" Kirk asked, mildly amused. Scientists! They were a hopeless case, unrelated to age, species or gender.

Jedda grinned at him like a fool. "And _how_ I'd like to change it, Captain!"

"It would be highly illogical to leave such a unique opportunity unused," Xon supported him, with an almost fanatic gleam in his eyes that only a new scientific discovery – or the blood fever – could put into any Vulcan's eye. The latter being rather unlikely at the moment, it _had_ to be the scientific excitement – as far as Vulcans were capable of it.

"All right, then," Kirk laughed. "We're gonna fly through it – whatever it is. Mr. Bernstein, take us through by twenty per cent sublight. After all, we're out here to discover new things, aren't we? The science department is entitled to have a little fun from time to time, too. How long would we need to cross the cloud?"

"Forty-nine hours twenty-six minutes, sir," Sulu answered promptly, even before Xon could have reacted. Seeing Kirk's bafflement, he added with a beatific smile. "I've done a bit of preliminary calculations, sir."

"I'm impressed," Kirk said, withstanding the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, Mr. Bernstein, take us through, so that those _not_ from the science department can return to their beds."

"Course set, Captain," Bernstein replied. "At your mark."

"Mark," Kirk ordered, and marched to the turbolift, without as much as another glance at the main viewer.

It was just a cosmic cloud, after all. And, according to Sulu's calculations, it would still be there when he'd begin his duty on Alpha shift, in six hours' time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The science department saw it differently, of course. Xon had called everyone from all related fields to their stations, and they were taking readings, mapping and correlating data, comparing theories and the likes for the rest of the Gamma shift and the entire following Alpha shift. After that, Xon ordered them to rest, leaving only the science crew of Beta shift at the cartography computers.

Ensign Jana Haines, who'd been sitting at Science Station 2, turned to the Vulcan. "Mr. Xon, may I relocate to the astrophysics lab? I'd like to make a few special records of this phenomenon – they could prove useful for my dissertation."

Xon nodded. "Of course, Ensign. I will take over for you here."

"Thank you, sir," Haines was already vacating her seat.

"There is no need to thank me," Xon replied. "The phenomenon is fascinating; I would keep studying it in any case; I can do it as well from here."

"May I join you?" asked Adzhin-Dall Haines. "That is, if I won't disturb you…"

"Of course not, Doctor," the astrophysicist laughed. "It's me who'll gain a lot by your cooperation."

"Be not so modest," Adzhin-Dall said on their way to the turbolift. "I've read your most recent article in the Annals of Astrophysics, and I must admit that you've phrased a few brilliant theories concerning the energy transformations in…" The rest was lost as the turbolift doors closed behind them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lieutenant Xon, the astrochemist Lieutenant Gates, Ensign Haines and Jedda Adzhin-Dall continued the specific scans and records during the entire Beta shift. After that, even Xon was too tired to focus properly, so he yielded to the logical consequence and went back to his quarters to meditate. Gates had given up hours earlier and was now sleeping, bent over one of the off-line consoles, the russet freckles a lot more visible on her exhausted, pale face than usual.

"Grant yourself a break," Sulu said to the Deltan scientist. "I can continue here for you. I used to be an astrophysicist, after all, before I opted for reassignment to the bridge crew."

"But you've got your rest period right now, Commander," Jedda protested.

"True, but I've just slept through Beta shift," Sulu pointed out. "Allow me the fun of doing a little scientific research again."

"All right," the Deltan laughed. "I'll go to the observations lounge then and take a real look at this wonder. No matter how advanced our instruments may be, they'll never be able to replace the intimacy of true sight."

"My thoughts exactly," Sulu nodded and took place at the spectroscope. "Have fun!"

Usually, Deltans could take the same workload as any Vulcan. Under other circumstances, Jedda would have stayed in the astrophysics lab, to help Xon – who had come back after half an hour of meditation already – with the gathering and analysing of additional data. This time, however, he hearted Sulu's advice and excused himself after a mere fourteen hours, feeling the need to gain that "more intimate" impression of the cloud he'd spoken about. Something he could only do from the observation lounge.

He wasn't surprised that Ilia joined him at the moment he reached the turbolift. They were so attuned to each other that they could read the other's mind without conscious effort – and _this_ was something they wanted to share.

Technically, the observations lounge – at least according to the labels on both the doors and the _Enterprise_'s blueprints – was the upmost level of the rec deck and could be accessed via turbolift or a stairway from the officers' lounge. Still, nobody called it that way. The most important factor was that the observations lounge was the only place on the entire ship _not_ covered by monocrystallic iridium-rhodium deck plates. The only place where a direct, real-time view at the space that lay _before_ the ship was possible.

Consequently, this was the most vulnerable spot of the _Enterprise_, even though the large, slightly arched windows were made of transparent aluminium and installed into the bulkhead with a method that practically melted them with the deck plates. Still, the crew would not willingly give up on the chance to look at the cosmos with their own eyes instead of relaying completely on the view transmitted to them by sensors and viewscreens.

The observation lounge was rarely empty when the _Enterprise_ was travelling through real space, but right now, more people were either working furiously in the silence lab, or resting, after having done the same way beyond their usual working schedule. Only at the farthest window stood a short, deceivingly fragile figure, wearing the golden uniform of the security section. The short, cotton-soft white hair and the blunt, knobbly antennae peeking out of it revealed the person as an Andorian. Unlike other races, Andorians had bug-like, long torsoes compared with their relatively short limbs, making the bizarre impression that they were taller sitting than standing.

Lieutenant Lamia – to spare her crewmates, she only used her Clan-name in the official records – noticed the feather-like footsteps of the two Deltans and wiggled her antennae in their direction, in a manner of greeting. Unlike the aggressive and combative majority of her people, she was a definitely sociable person – at least in Andorian terms. Otherwise she couldn't have served on a ship with five hundred crew, mostly humans, with only half a dozen from her own kind.

Ilia and Jedda didn't want to disturb the quiet contemplation of the Andorian woman, so they stopped at the closest window. Once again, Ilia realized why the observation lounge was nicknamed NAZ-Deck (nearly absolute zero deck). Although each window was equipped with a protective forcefield of its own, they were still icy cold. If she reached out to touch them, she got a good impression of the terrible cold of space; of that eternal, jet-black winter that not even the strongest radiation of the largest and hottest suns could ever hope to soothe.

The two Deltans touched the window plane. Their kind aspired to experience the fullest intensity of each sensation, in every given moment of their lives. Most of them, like Jedda himself, intended to enjoy the strongest possible intensity of pleasure. Very few of them chose the way of pain. Ilia – in her true Deltan name Ei'lia Maprida'hn – was one of those selected few… at least in certain situations. And as it was custom among partners, Jedda followed her down this path in those times.

They seldom touched each other in the presence of outsiders, but Lamia was an exception. They stood snuggled together in front of the huge widow, close enough to feel the merciless, destructive cold of space, despite the isolation field. The cloud summoned them from all directions. Its beautiful, purplish glint jumped from layer to layer, trembling and gleaming, producing a light spectacle that they'd never seen before. Not in their conscious life; nor in the visionary collective memory of their species.

Ei'lia and Jedda surrendered to this endless, icy beauty completely. They extended their souls – or the part of their being that, in Deltan terms, would be the rough equivalent of a human soul – to the outmost limits, opening themselves to the complex harmonies of the cloud unconditionally. Being an extremely sensual people, Deltans had a strong reaction to both visual and auditive stimuli; besides, like Vulcans, they could sense the vibrations of electromagnetic fields directly. The mysterious, gleaming cloud was providing them with a unique experience they couldn't even dream of before.

This wasn't mere seeing. Due to the construction of Deltan eyes, the vibrations of the cloud also registered in their inner ear, echoing in the form of foreign harmonies that woke torturous desire in them with their almost painful perfection, like the reminiscences of an old, great, unrequited love. Unrequited love was a fate worse than death for a Deltan. They _needed_ each other's physical and mental closeness in a degree that most of them could only live and work in group marriages, ort hey would have starved to death, both emotionally and physically.

Not that it happened frequently on 114 Delta V. In a society that used sexual encounters for practically every aspect of daily life, such danger for the single individual was extremely rare. But there were exceptions, like in everything else, and public opinion found those rare cases a regrettable thing. It was also a favoured topic of psychodramas.

Ei'lia felt and recognized the delicately budding desire inside her. Her naked skull, which – being now off-duty – was adorned with the pearl-embroidered broad, black velvet headband worn by women available and ready for their partners, turned to the side, resting on Jedda's broad shoulder. Her thoughts – or, to be more accurate, the seductive mental pictures Deltans exchanged telepathically before going over to the more… substantial forms of foreplay – began to branch out to Jedda with gentle, enticing calls.

Jedda answered her at once, of course. No Deltan would ever refuse his or her partner. Not even under normal circumstances. Even less so after sharing a mental challenge of the magnificence that the cloud represented for them.

They didn't look at each other. Fixing their eyes on the trembling, glittering harmonies of the cloud, they could almost physically feel the growing and extending of their _l'haran_ – the summary of the mental abilities that built the complex structure of Deltan intelligence, telepathy and sexuality, Of all the older races of the Galaxy, Deltans were the one that had achieved the highest level of unity between body and soul – to put it the hopelessly simplicistic way of human speech.

"We cannot stay here," Jedda spoke out with quiet words that which they were both feeling. "It would be irresponsible."

Ei'lia nodded, full of sorrow. From a Deltan point of view, most humanoid races were sexually inferior. Had she and Jedda stayed here, in the observations lounge, to love each other in the magnificent and inspiring presence of the cloud, it would have led to a scandal. Lamia wouldn't mind – after all, Andorian marriages required four individuals to be accepted as a lawful bond – but the observation lounge was a public place. Someone less enlightened could have come in… and taken offence.

"Let's go home," she said in agreement. They waved at Lamia, who answered with another friendly wiggle of her antennae, and left, feeling the loss as soon as they walked out the door.

As the chief navigator of the ship, Lieutenant Ilia would have had her quarters on Deck 5. However, as a civilian scientist, Jedda couldn't have lived there. Thus they'd been given one of he larger quarters on Deck 4, together with other civilians assigned permanently to the _Enterprise_; like Dr. T'Pel, the Vulcan historian and sociologist, Mr. Singh from Engineering, Cassiopeia from the rec deck and a few others. They couldn't find much in common with the Vulcan, but since Cassiopeia had lived on Seyalia for a while, they had become fairly close – as close as a Deltan could get with a foreigner after such a short time.

When they reached their destination, Cassiopeia was just stepping out of the other turbolift, wearing an extravagant, shoulder-free dress, as usual. She was pretty enough for a human, and the Deltans appreciated the artistic skill to display and emphasise her assets all the time.

"Done for the day?" Ilia asked. The blonde beauty nodded, giving them one of her bright smiles.

"You've got those hooded eyes again," she added teasingly. "Do you never tire of each other?"

"We're still young," Jedda explained with dignity. "You should use some proper stimulation yourself. One day you really should have dinner with us; you and your current partner."

Cassiopeia laughed. "I don't think Singh would be very comfortable with that," she said.

"Well, he's a Hindu," Jedda pointed out. "His people have created the Kama Sutra, after all, haven't they?"

Cassiopeia shook her head in regret.

"He's still way too shy and sexually inhibited for your little games," she said. "I'm afraid I'll have my work cut out for me with him for quite some time yet."

"What a pity," Jedda said half-seriously. "I so hoped that we'll be able to seduce you into some playing one day."

"It _is_ tempting," Cassiopeia admitted. "But you know how humans think about fidelity – well, most Earth humans anyway. Singh would interpret it as cheating – and I've not grown tired of him yet."

"It doesn't matter," Jedda declared genially. "I can wait."

Cassiopeia laughed, shook her head in mock exasperation and keyed in her code to enter her quarters. The two Deltans followed suit. Thanks to Jedda's civilian status (and the new regulations), they didn't have to go with Starfleet-issue furniture. Instead, they had a Deltan environment here, with lush plants, comfortable armchairs and couches that didn't chafe their sensitive skin, with incense floating the air and beautiful, hand-made Deltan hangings on the walls.

While Jedda prepared the bedroom. Ei'lia fetched her _jah'tagan_, a three-string Deltan instrument, and let her fingers glide across the strings. Their thoughts had already taken shape and colour, following the melody; being the members of a telepathic race, they had no need for words. They were quiet during the elaborate cleansing ritual, and silently did they move on to the bedchamber, to turn their erotic fantasies into reality.

The crew often discussed, out of curiosity, what Deltans might be doing when they were alone. These people would be probably surprised if they knew that a great deal of Deltan sexuality – despite the race's sensual nature – happened on a spiritual level so deep that not even other telepathically gifted species could have followed them.

Ei'lia reached out for her lover. Their focus narrowed to each other, shutting out everything except themselves in the unparalleled unity of body and soul.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As the _Enterprise_ travelled through the cloud, large pulses of white light were gliding past her. The scientist of Beta shift kept getting readings, but as they only used instruments, not true sight, none of them noticed one of the swimming light pulses change direction and follow along with the ship for a while. Then a small section of the light ball took off and began traversing the outer skin of the ship… until it abruptly disappeared into the _Enterprise_, passing through bulkheads and closed downs without resistance.

In the VIP-sector, Uhura was sleeping peacefully in the warm circle of Tigh's arms, a smile on her face. Neither of them awoke when the light entity entered their quarters, making its way directly to Uhura. It quickly scanned the length of her body, making another pass and pausing first at her abdomen and then at her head. Uhura stretched languorously at the light-touch as though experiencing something sensual and pleasant.

Tigh felt her movement in his sleep and opened his eyes, narrowly missing the light entity's hurried retreat through the bulkhead.

"What is it, heart of flame?" he asked quietly.

Waking up, too, Uhura smiled at him dreamily. "I don't know," she answered in a husky voice, "but somehow I felt that it's a shame to waste this night with sleeping."

Tigh raised an eyebrow – a gently sarcastic gesture completely lost in the darkness oft heir quarters. "I think I can be persuaded to spend the rest of it more… creatively," he said, with warmth in his voice. "It's nearly over as it is, after all – and you're off-duty for the next ten or so _centares_."

"_Hours_," beloved," Uhura corrected, laughing. "Now, _be_ creative!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the meantime, the light entity moved on, passing through other bulkheads, to the senior officers' section. It entered Chekov's quarters, heading directly for the room's sleeping occupant. It scanned the man's body the same way as it had dome with Uhura, but did not explore his head at the second pass. Chekov also appeared to enjoy the entity's survey of his abdomen; he was still writhing with pleasure as the entity moved out again.

Ilia and Jedda slept in the faint afterglow of their passionate love-making, wrapped around each other like one being. The entity lingered over Ilia's head a long time, causing her move sensuously against Jedda. Finally, the entity pulled away for a moment and hovered in the air over them, growing brighter and more animated. Then it plunged inside Ilia's body through her abdominal wall; her body moved spasmodically in reaction, but neither she nor Jedda woke up, although her writhing continued until it reached a peak during which her entire body seemed to glow. Then the glow gathered itself at her head. Her body relaxed again, and the glow, becoming the light entity once more, removed itself and retreated through the bulkhead.

Sliding along the corridor's ceiling, the entity reached the aft end of the ship, where it penetrated the hull without a trace and rejoined the light ball that had paced the _Enterprise_. Strangely enough, nothing of this had registered on the on-duty scientist's instruments.

~TBC~


End file.
